We weave through the bustling crowd, making our way toward where our seats are in the stadium. At the top entrance to our row, Lydia flashes the tickets we bought earlier, and the check-in attendant hands us a card in return.
“Don’t lose that,” he warns, his tone flat with boredom. “During the halftime events tonight, they’ll be picking a few people from the crowd to come down to center stage for some rodeo activities.”
“Rodeo activities?” I ask, raising a brow.
He nods. “Yeah. Winner gets a special prize and a photo with Hayes Walker.”
Hayes Walker.
The name alone sends a little jolt of excitement rushing through me. Hayes is the number one bull rider in North America. I know that because I spent the entire ride here scrolling through his stats and looking at photos of him. If I’m going to watch men ride 2,000 pounds of pure muscle tonight and attempt not to be thrown down to the dirt, I at least want to know who the big shots are.
And Hayes? He’s not just good, he’s incredible. Thebest.
Ten plus years on the circuit. Rides all over the world. He’s practically untouchable in the rankings and at the top of hisgame. But that’s not what stuck with me. Oh no. What I was caught up in were the photos that were was attached with my research.
Light brown hair, warm hazel eyes, tanned skin that screamsspends all his time outdoors.And then there’s the jawline. Sharp enough to cut glass, and shoulders so broad you could park a tractor on them. The man’s built like he was made to be printed on posters and the star of every woman’s fantasies.
He spends his off-season, which is only two months out of the year, surfing in tropical countries, volunteering at an animal rescue, and riding horses on his family’s ranch in South Carolina, which is somehow both adorable and painfully attractive. Small-town boy finds success on the circuit riding bulls and spends his downtime saving animals. Swoon.
If I were to ride a cowboy tonight, he’d be the one. No question. Not that I’m greedy. I’m not trying to have my whole world flipped upside down. A birthday, one-night stand is all I’m after. I’d happily settle for someone ranked fifth on the circuit since reaching for Hayes might be a little too ambitious.
Lydia glances at her phone, distracted, then nudges me as the lights in the arena dim. “Showtime,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Strobe lights slice through the darkness, and the crowd roars to life. The sound is deafening full of boots stomping, people yelling, music thumping, and I feel it all vibrating in my chest reminding me I’m alive. It’s overwhelming in the best way, like a tidal wave of pure adrenaline crashing over me. For someone who usually prefers quiet nights in, this is a whole different world. And I’m here for it.
The lights suddenly cut out completely, plunging the arena into total darkness. The roar of the crowd hushes to a low rumble,anticipation hanging thick in the air. A single spotlight snaps on, illuminating the center of the dirt-covered ring. Standing there, bathed in light, is a tall man in a black cowboy hat. His voice booms through the speakers, deep and commanding.
“Cowboys and cowgirls! Do we have a show for you tonight!”
The crowd erupts again, their cheers drowning out the rest of his words. He raises his hands, laughing as he tries to settle them down.
“Alright, alright!” he says, his grin is audible even through the mic. “Before we dive into tonight’s events which include lassoing, steer wrestling, barrel racing, and, of course, the main event, bull riding—we’re kicking things off with a special tradition here on the circuit!” His voice builds, drawing the crowd in. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the number one bull rider in North America...Hayessss Walker!”
The stadium explodes. Cheers, whistles, stomping. It’s chaos. And there he is. The guy I’ve been obsessing over. Okay, maybeobsessingis a stretch. I’ve only known who he is for about fifteen minutes, but still.
Holy.
Bull rider in chaps.
Hayes Walker steps into the spotlight, and I swear, time slows.
We’re only three rows up from the ground floor, close enough that I can see every controlled movement that he makes, every ripple of muscle under those light-washed Wrangler jeans that fit like they were tailored by God Himself. Over them, he wears dark brown chaps that sway with his movement, drawing my attention to his strong legs and tight ass. His plain white T-shirt clings to a chest so broad and solid, I’m pretty sure he could bench-press the bull he’s supposed to be riding tonight.
And his face?
Woosh.
My breathing stills and my hands freeze mid-clap. His jawline is sharper than the edge of a branding iron, his beard perfectly rugged, his lips… well, let’s just say I wouldn’t mind getting up close and personal with those.
Light brown hair, not too short, not too long, just enough to grab onto, peeks out from under a dark brown cowboy hat. He tilts the brim, scanning the crowd, and that’s when I see his eyes. Strong, like they’re designed to disarm anyone who looks too long.
I’m done. Completely, utterlygone.
From this close, he’s already huge—like, reallyhuge.And the thought of standing near him? I’d like him to crush me. Absolutely wreck me. Give me my first attempt at riding a bull because he’s something I wouldn’t mind being on top of.
One thing’s for certain: I’llneverforget the first time I heard the name Hayes Walker.
“Oh, you were right,” Lydia says, her tone dripping with amusement, but all I can do is nod, eyes glued to him.
